Christmas Eve 1981
by Lyta Padfoot
Summary: [One shot] Frank Longbottom meets Mr. Crouch and his son at the annual Department of Magical Law Enforcement Christmas party and extends a fateful invitation.


"**Christmas Eve 1981"  
by Lyta Padfoot**

Frank Longbottom always enjoyed the annual Christmas parties the different departments held at the Ministry. The Department of Mysteries party was filled with arcane puzzles, riddles, and symbolism designed to appeal to Unspeakables. Magical Catastrophes was always well lubricated with alcohol and featured bizarre party hats.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement party usually devolved into games many Hogwarts students would find juvenile. Even their stern head Barty Crouch, Sr. never breathed a word of complaint so long as someone repaired the damage afterwards. It was just as well the _Daily Prophet _did not run stories on Aurors and Hit Wizards playing pin the heads on the Runespoor. It would ruin their image. The silliness of department parties was a necessary outlet. It was so difficult to relax after work, downright dangerous to do so in public. And it was a relief to play silly party games with laughter and clear outcomes. At one particularly memorable party a few years ago they had played spin the bottle. Frank was certain someone rigged the game so it always landed on him and Alice. Their first kiss had been in full view of the entire department.

Tonight, however, he was only putting in an appearance on his way back from speaking to Alastor Moody, who seemed to have visited every party at least once and had proved very difficult to track down. His family awaited him at home. He smiled over at his co-workers, engaged in a heated game of Truth or Dare with a bunch of clerks from the Wizengamot Administrative Services. He supposed he had some of those same colleagues to thank for that family. He gave silent thanks to whomever had rigged that butterbeer bottle.

Frank and Alice had been taking turns watching Neville and working from a small cottage hidden on the ancient Longbottom property ever since Dumbledore warned them of a prophecy existed that _might _apply to their son, . Mr. Crouch had not been pleased, but Dumbledore smoothed things over. Alice held that the Headmaster had simply pointed out the alternative – that Crouch would find himself deprived of two skilled and badly needed Aurors. Frank suspected the Headmaster told Crouch something of the prophecy.

When it was his turn in the office Frank had made certain to work extra hard to compensate. He respected Mr. Crouch and the work filled the lonely Alice-and-Neville-less hours. Even when he minded Neville there was a vacuum created by Alice's absence. After sixteen months of living in deep hiding, Frank could hardly believe they could go out with their son and be a family like other wizards and witches could.

The war being over was only starting to truly sink in for many. Hardly surprising considering the Ministry had been fighting Voldemort since the early seventies. The parties this year were even more boisterous than usual. There was a real sense of celebration and not an attempt at a few hours distraction. The tradition of reading the names of the dead and drinking a toast to them continued, but for the first time there was a sense that next year no one would have to write down the names to avoid missing a few. Next year the dead would be a manageable number. Frank could not recall the last funeral he had attended of someone how had died a natural death.

The Department of Mysteries, however, was unusually circumspect in its celebration. Brain teasers were passed around over punch and someone handed around a caldron for contributions to the Survivors and Orphans fund. Last year Frank had nearly been run over by Augustus Rookwood chasing after a giggling Lily Potter demanding that she remove an experimental charm from his hair. Now Potter and her husband were dead and only last week he had supervised the transfer of Rookwood to Azkaban.

If the Department of Mysteries was subdued, Magical Sports and Games more than made up the loss. Their efforts extended from the seventh floor offices down to Magical Law Enforcement on the second. Frank nearly tripped over the festively coloured quaffles someone had conjured for the occasion when he ventured into their offices in search of Mad-Eye.

"Really," Frank heard a witch sneered as he stepped over an unconscious warlock from the Ludicrous Patents Office on his way to the lifts. "I thought these people were finished with school." The blonde witch cast a scornful glance at Frank's hair and robes, still littered with debris from certain of the parties he had passed through.

Frank recognized the witch as Narcissa Malfoy. She and her husband had appeared at the Ministry in early November with a tale of having been under the Imperius Curse. Her lips told one story, her icy eyes quite another. Alice had wanted to test the Malfoys with Veritaserum, but Bagnold overruled her. With the immediate threat of You-Know-Who removed, the Aurors would no longer given so much freedom with Truth Potions.

Frank did not like to think of his wife's reaction to that news. Until then he had no idea just how impressive her vocabulary actually was. She had been investigating the Malfoys for three months.

Frank watched Mrs. Malfoy disappear down a hallway. Politics were frustrating. He was with Alice: the Malfoys should be keeping company with Dementors, not hosting the Lestranges for the twelve days of Christmas. Unfortunately, Bagnold had ordered them to bring something she could take before the Wizengamot first. Mr. Crouch had not been pleased but hinted the situation would change should a new Minister take over. Everyone knew it was all but inevitable that Barty Crouch would have the top job handed to him very soon.

"Longbottom," Mr. Crouch materialized in an office doorway. He wore a sour expression that came from having to watch a Death Eater walk free.

"Good evening, sir." Frank was still pulling silly string from his robes and there was floo powder in his hair. By contrast, Mr. Crouch looked as perfectly pressed as ever in his emerald robes and fashionable violet cloak. It marvelled Frank that he had never seen the Department head tired or ill. And how had he managed to pass through the Department unscathed? Even Moody was celebrating, wearing a sombrero from a Christmas Cracker while he flirted with Mafalda Hopkirk. Frank was certain the Dungbomb that had _accidentally_ rolled itself into Rabastan Lestrange's brolly yesterday before was entirely Mad-Eye's doing.

"I thought you would be home with your family," Crouch said. He glanced out the window. In deference to the season Magical Maintenance had the windows display a gentle snowfall.

Frank smiled at the mention of his family. What was Alice thinking when she agreed to marry him? "I will be shortly. Moody asked me to come in and look over some intelligence. He thinks we're close."

Crouch nodded in understanding. He traded family time to contribute to the war far more often than Frank did. "The sooner we can change You-Know-Who's status from 'defeated' to 'destroyed' the better."

"My thought's exactly, sir," Frank said. His Neville and young Harry Potter would never be entirely safe so long as Voldemort endured.

"Father?" a third voice intruded. Frank turned to see young Barty Crouch, Jr. clutching a sheath of Ministry documents.

"Yes?" Crouch snapped. Crouch reminded Frank of his own mother, stern and demanding but with a well-armoured core of powerful affection. It was really only after Neville had been born that Frank understood his parents.

"These need your signature." Barty handed the documents to his father. Frank thought he detected a hint of loathing in the boy. Not hard to understand that, he thought the Ministry far too enamoured with paperwork. Alice swore it bred if left unattended.

"I'd best be on my way," Frank informed his boss. "Moody is dead set on finding You-Know-Who by New Year."

"With the two of you on the case, I have no doubts you'll succeed." High praise indeed from Crouch. A rare smile crossed the older wizard's face. "Merry Christmas."

"And a happy holidays to you and your good wife, sir." Frank had only seen Mrs. Crouch twice. She had taken a curse meant for her husband and her heart suffered a lasting injury. Every year the spell damage and time chipped away at her strength.

Frank smiled over at the younger Barty. The boy had a hard time of it, being the boss' son. On top of that, whatever Crouch expected of those under him, twice that he demanded of Barty. "Happy Christmas, Barty. Alice and I would be pleased if you would stop by over the holidays."

"I'm afraid Barty and I have numerous commitments elsewhere," Crouch said smoothly. A look of irritation passed over his son's pale features. "Perhaps after the new year?" he offered as a compromise. Young Barty had been so irritable these past few weeks. Frank thought it came of seeing the joy others felt at You-Know-Who's defeat contrasted with the ever-worsening health of his mother.

"After the New Year," Frank agreed. "We'd love to have you over for dinner."

"I believe I'll accept your kind offer," Barty said. "I might even bring a friend or two, if that is acceptable to you and your wife."

Frank tried to think of who Barty's friend's might be, but drew a blank. At least he had some folks with whom to chat with and spend his off hours. He had been trying to encourage the boy to socialize for months and it appeared his efforts were finally paying off. "The more the merrier."

As Frank continued on his way, bypassing an inebriated Wallace Perkins, he missed the predatory expression on the younger Crouch's face.


End file.
